Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"A talk for later, Master Larswic." said Saeryn, guiding him carefully out of the wreckage. She mentally patted her own back for having worn shoes today as she nimbly moved across the stone-strewed ground. Not only were her feet safer than they would normally have been, but she presented a far more convincing hostess than she'd have without. For a reason she was unsure of, her standing in this man's eyes seemed of more importance than usual. Perhaps it was his inspecting glance, taking in everything and everyone, and Saeryn's own knowledge that the hall was marginally less than presentable. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes when he spotted the lord of the hall up to his eyes in grime, but whatever it was, Saeryn wanted this man to know that he was amongst those deserving of the utmost respect. An unshod hostess wasn't exactly what she considered demanding of it, and she felt unusually aware of the way her own appearance reflected that of Eodwine. She spoke again even as she resolved to begin wearing shoes again, no matter how lovely the weather.

"Coins or not, nothing can be done until a few other things have been taken care of. M'lord," she added over her shoulder, using Eodwine's title more for the benefit of the newcomers and for propriety than for any tendency otherwise. "Frodides is safe and outside with the ladies. I meant to tell you before you shooed me off."

Turning back to Larswic, Saeryn smiled politely at him, expecting no argument and happily receiving none.

"Now where are you from, Master Larswic? I daresay that I can find you and your young men a meal if it's desired, and certainly rooms. Will you be staying long?"